


Go In Peace and Know Nothing But Love

by NoPenIntended



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPenIntended/pseuds/NoPenIntended
Summary: Achilles dies first. Patroclus is left to deal with the aftermath. Things aren't quite as simple as killing Hector and going down in a blaze of glory





	Go In Peace and Know Nothing But Love

He crumpled beside me, giving into my wishes.

“I will command them,” he says. “But not for Agamemnon.” I smiled, hearing the words he did not say.

I watched as he put on his armor, shining still after all the years he had spent fighting in it. “Be careful,” I said, though I knew he shouldn't need it. Though the day was warm, I could feel a cold wind stir as though it came from the underworld. We did not speak after that; the only farewell I gave him was a held up hand. He’d return that evening, just as he had all the evenings before, and sit by the fire with us all. I stood there til long after he had disappeared before returning to my work. Briseis joined me in friendly solitude, though she was not supposed to, and we moved around the camp til another cold wind blew, stiffening my body as though it was a corpse. A moment later, it passed, leaving nothing but a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“He is dead,” I stated. Hector. The only man that could keep Achilles from mortality, dead. “Achilles is--" I did not finish my thought, but Briseis understood. 

“Perhaps it won't be today,” she offered to me in her soft voice. “The war has lasted for many years; it may last for many more yet.” I nodded, and reassured by her words, I returned to my work. The reassurance didn't last long. Another breeze hit me, burrowing into me as though it would never leave. Briseis gave me a strange look, but I couldn't bear to speak my thoughts. On the horizon, I could see the men returning. I stopped my work in an attempt to see Achilles, to see if I was wrong, though I knew I wouldn't be able to see him yet. My heart pounded as they came close. A shroud was being carried back-- a king’s shroud. I searched the ranks to see who was missing. The shroud came closer still, and I could see honeyed locks falling from it. My heart stopped.

“Is it--" I asked, not daring to believe it true. Someone nodded, and I dropped to my knees. Odysseus came to me with him.

“He fought valiantly,” the old king told me. “Truly, a battle worthy of stories and songs.” I looked up at him, not comprehending. He sighed. “We will leave you to mourn.” Only then did the tears come. I mourned for not just Aristos Achaion as all the men did, but for the loss of my love, my friend, the boy I had met and the man I had grown up with. I mourned for Achilles as he was, not for who he appeared to be. Briseis appeared beside me as I thought to move and clean his body well into the evening. I did not wish to speak with her.

“We lost a friend today,” she started. I shook my head.

“He was no mere friend,” I replied hoarsely, my voice thick with tears. “He knew me better than any other.” She tried to touch me, but I shied away and finished my task alone.

We burned his body that night. I collected the ashes, though it was not work for me, feeling them and pretending as though the remains were still him, warm and breathing and loving and fighting and all the things in between. They were placed in a urn that shone gold like his hair had once had. I clutched it to my chest, remembering what we had once had, begging the gods to have mercy on us both. I heard her before I saw her. Thetis.

“He is dead,” I said, not looking her in the eye. For once, I felt not her anger, but her sorrow.

“He is dead,” she repeated. “He died a mortal’s death.” As though his spirit somehow overtook me, I suddenly stood, filled with some weird sense of confidence.

“A hero's death,” I corrected. “He died as Aristos Achaion, fighting with his men.” I crumpled back to a sitting position. “Please, let me join him.” Thetis shook her head.

“I cannot,” she told me. “Though I did not agree to protect you, I will not kill you.” A lump rose in my throat. I took care not to knock over the urn.

“Then tell me-- what will become of me?” My voice croaked, but I still stood defiantly. Thetis looked at me with something almost like pity.

“Fear not,” she replied to me, and in that moment she seemed so much like Achilles that I could not hardly stand it. “Your end is coming soon, Menoitiades.” I had not been referred by that name for many years. Thetis left, leaving me with only the urn and my thoughts.

The days passed in a blur. Briseis offered me her company, and we often sat in silence. The men from Phthia erected a tomb for Achilles, but I could not yet bear to bury his urn.

“Put us in one tomb,” I told someone at some point. “It’s what he would have wanted.” It's what I wanted, too. More men arrived, along with Neoptolemus-- Pyrrhus, Achilles’ son. He was but a boy, though he did not look it. His eyes were harsh and cold, and though he had several of Achilles’ features, he had none of the things I had truly loved about him. 

“And who are you?” he said to me, when the dust finally settled.

“Patroclus,” I replied. He gave me a scathing look, and I realized again how unimpressive I truly was. “Achilles’ companion, advisor, and friend.”

“You? Friends with my father?” Pyrrhus scoffed. “You are nobody. You are lucky if he ever gave a second glance to you. Return to your master, or your post. I do not wish to see you again.”

“With respect, this is my home,” I replied, remembering what Chiron had told me so many years ago. My voice was flat; I cared not what happened to me anymore. “I was the closest to Achilles in life--"

“--and I am the closest to him in death,” Pyrrhus interrupted. “Now begone.” I did not move. He pulled his sword, one I recognized as an old one of Achilles’. “I will not ask again.”

“Your father--" I began. Neoptolemus did not let me finish, stabbing me through the heart and staining the ground red. It barely seemed to hurt as I left my body and rose, not yet unchained from the earth. My soul burned for Achilles, but I knew I must wait. Pyrrhus called for Briseis. “Clean up this mess,” he ordered her. I could see tears in her eyes as she lifted my body.

“Achilles,” I called. A glimpse of blond hair, paler in death, but recognizable to me. We made eye contact, and we reached for each other, but could not make contact. He faded away. “I am coming.”

Briseis burned me alone, sneaking my ashes into the urn when Pyrrhus was away. He buried us together in a tomb marked for one. I longed for him, the one I loved. The tomb read A C H I L L E S, and only that. I could feel the cold dirt and emptiness. He had moved on. Briseis returned only once, in an attempt to write my name into the rock. She had finished only the P when she was discovered.

“What do you think you're doing?” Pyrrhus shouted at her, striking her down and staining the dirt above us with her blood. “Pelides,” he ordered the men to write. “We cannot let anyone ruin my father's grave.” I prayed for Briseis to be able to move on, to not be stuck as I was.

The years passed, and I was all but forgotten. My spirit rarely stirred now, confined to the urn. Sometimes, I did not remember who I was, or what I was waiting for. I heard Thetis.

“It is done,” she said. I rose, and met her one last time. “You may be with him now. He waits.” I could smell a familiar scent, hear a voice cry my name, and knew nothing but love.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few months and it made a HUGE DORK cry and so now that I have an AO3, I decided to post it here and maybe make some of y'all cry too.


End file.
